


Talking in Tandem

by VelkynKarma



Series: Parallel by Proxy [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Kuron (Voltron)-centric, Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, Nightmares, PTSD, adventures in bonding with the Black Lion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 13:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15220118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelkynKarma/pseuds/VelkynKarma
Summary: With the aftermath of the Olkarion attack finally resolved, Shiro and Ryou decide to work on figuring out how they managed to contact each other in the middle of the battle. But it proves to be a more difficult exercise than Ryou had anticipated, and he begins to wonder if he's really meant to be a paladin to begin with.





	Talking in Tandem

“So…how exactly do we do this?” Ryou asks out loud.  
  
That evening finds both Shiro and Ryou in the cabin of the Black Lion. After two long, difficult spicolian movements, the worst of the damage in the city of Olkari has finally been cleaned up, and the paladins have been able to return to their regular training schedule. It also means they can _finally_ start addressing a few other incidents that had come up during the nearly disastrous attack. That includes, among other things, the way Ryou had been able to call out for help when he’d been in danger and be heard by Shiro miles away.   
  
So when Shiro suggests trying to figure out what exactly they had done, Ryou jumps at the chance. He’s tired and sore from training, but this seems like a skill worth figuring out despite that. It had saved his life, but more importantly, he wants to be able to return the favor someday if Shiro needs him.   
  
But now that they’re both here, in the Black Lion, Ryou has to admit he has no idea where to start to even _try_ to figure out the mysterious mental connection the Black Lion gives them.  
  
Shiro thumps down into the pilot’s seat, and absently reaches out to place his hands over the controls. “Well,” he says, after a moment’s thought, “We already know we can hear each other when we’re both in the cabin, right?”  
  
“Yes,” Ryou agrees. Even now, even when he’s not in the pilot’s seat, he can feel the presence of the Black Lion in his mind. It’s an incredible presence settled into the back of his head, so it’s almost easy to miss the fact that he can sort of… _feel_ that Shiro is there, too. If he were to close his eyes and turn around, he’d still be able to pinpoint exactly where in the cabin Shiro was.   
  
And then, just to test it out, he adds, _But that feels more like the Voltron mind link. When you can feel everyone just as much as hear them. Just internalized._   
  
Shiro sits up a little straighter at the the thought communication. It still takes getting used to, especially for the two of them, because it just feels _strange._ It’s like having thoughts you didn’t really have, because they share so much of the same mental mind-scape. It’s easy to tell someone else is talking, but only if it’s a concept you know you didn’t just think up yourself.   
  
_A little,_ Shiro finally answers back, in the same way. _I wonder if it’s because the Black Lion’s not supposed to have more than one paladin at a time. Maybe it’s trying to provide the same functionality for both of us simultaneously._  
  
 _If that’s the case, the others should be able to do this, too,_ Ryou answers back, still in thought. Conversation by thought is by far faster than verbal conversation, especially when feelings and concepts can be attached to each word to add more meaning than just the word itself. It’s not entirely unlike how one communicates with the Lions. And when Shiro and Ryou both still think approximately the same, communication is nearly instantaneous.   
  
_As long as they share a Lion,_ Shiro agrees. _Once we get the hang of this we can ask Keith to test it with us, or try it with some of the other Lions._  
  
 _Doesn’t help all that much by itself, though,_ Ryou points out. _I can communicate a combat idea or something I spotted to you very quickly if I’m in the cabin with you, but that doesn’t do much for anybody else. It’s definitely not how I called for help last time. And if I’m already in here anyway, what’s the point?_  
  
 _Let’s test how far the range is, then,_ Shiro decides.   
  
They test it by having Shiro remain in the pilot’s seat, while Ryou moves around. As long as he remains anywhere in the Black Lion itself—the belly hatch, the speeder, even in the Lion’s mouth—it seems he can keep up a fluid communication with Shiro just as easily as if they were on helmet communications. Ryou supposes it could be marginally more useful that way, if only by saving a few ticks to transmit visuals or ideas through the mental link when they’re not next to each other, rather than via technology. When they switch, and Ryou takes the pilot’s seat while Shiro moves around, the same effects occur.  
  
It can also be done, they discover, if Shiro’s not sitting in the pilot’s seat at all—provided they’re both still in the Black Lion. But the thoughts are notably weaker, and the impressions transmitted with them are less crystal clear, like something’s lost in transmission. Ryou’s not really sure how useful that would be at all, but at least they know it’s doable.   
  
But it’s once Ryou tries leaving the Lion that things get tricky. If he’s touching the Black Lion in any way—say, by pressing a hand to one of its massive fore-claws—he can still sort of hear Shiro, but the effect is strangely muted and quiet. And the farther he walks from the Black Lion, the less he hears, until about ten feet from it there’s no little extra voice in his head that sounds like him but isn’t at all.   
  
“I think we’re at range,” he says out loud, over the helmet comms. He stares up at the Black Lion’s enormous eyes, where he knows Shiro is. “Not very far. Definitely not how we talked before.”   
  
“No,” Shiro agrees, also switching back to comms. “But pretty decent for the range of a paladin’s communication to the Lion. Definitely seems like we’re piggy-backing off of that somehow to talk to each other, too.”  
  
“Makes sense,” Ryou says. “But it still means we have no idea how we did…whatever it was we did. If this wasn’t the answer, then something else happened.”  
  
“Maybe it just takes more focused thought,” Shiro muses. “The mental discussions are easy. We’re used to them with Voltron. But when you called me for help it wasn’t really a discussion, right? You were just thinking things and I managed to hear them.”  
  
“I guess,” Ryou concedes. Granted, he’d been in a state of panic at the time, and he’s still not really sure why he’d called for help at all. There’d been no one there _to_ help. But it had been all that was left on his mind at the time, and he’d never been expecting an answer.  
  
“Try thinking one thing and focus on that completely,” Shiro says. “Maybe I can pick up on it.”  
  
Ryou shrugs. He doesn’t really have any better ideas, though, so he heads over to a storage crate on the side of the hangar to sit down, closes his eyes, and tries to think very hard on a single thought. _Can you hear this?_   
  
There’s no answer from Shiro, in his head or on the comms. Ryou keeps trying to think it over and over, but the more time passes, the more he just feels like an idiot, and the more _this is ridiculous_ flits through his head.   
  
“You’re thinking this is ridiculous,” Shiro says over the comms.  
  
Ryou’s head snaps up in surprise. “What?” He asks, disbelieving. “Did you actually _hear_ that?”  
  
Shiro sighs in his ear, exasperated. “No. I know you’re thinking it because _I’m_ thinking it, and apparently our idle thoughts are still identical.”  
  
Ryou’s shoulders sag. “Oh.” Well, now he feels even more like an idiot than before.   
  
“C’mon, Ryou. Think of something I _wouldn’t,_ or we’ll never be able to test this.”  
  
“How the hell do I do that?” Ryou asks. “You have more memories than I do, and most of them are _yours.”_  
  
“I don’t know. Think about one of the characters from one of Lance or Pidge’s silly video games, or something.”  
  
 _“Silly?”_ Even if Shiro’s not right in front of him, Ryou still draws back as though offended. “ _Journey to the Depths of the Demonsphere_ is a Mercury Gameflux classic.”  
  
“You weren’t even born when the Mercury Gameflux II came out. Hell, _I_ wasn’t even born when it came out. It’s so old it’s retro.”  
  
“That doesn’t make it less good,” Ryou argues. “If anything, ‘retro’ makes it _more_ classic.”  
  
“Whatever,” Shiro says, exasperated. “The point is, I don’t know the characters, so think one of those. It’s a thought that doesn’t belong in my head, so I should be able to identify it as yours.”   
  
Ryou grumbles to himself, but obligingly singles out the main character, a sword-wielding kid with anime levels of spiky red hair named Trellis, and repeats the name over and over in his head. Unfortunately, after another ten minutes, there’s still no connection, and Shiro finally concedes defeat.   
  
“Maybe it has to do with the astral plane,” Shiro mutters over the comms. “I didn’t hear you until we tried to do the Volton merge, last time.”  
  
“Could just be coincidence,” Ryou says, as he draws his legs up to sit cross legged on the crate. He balances his (left, not metal) elbow on one knee and settles his head in his hand as he waits for Shiro to think the situation through. He’s got absolutely nothing to contribute as far as the astral plane is concerned. Shiro’s been there twice, but Ryou had lost the first memory with his failsafe illness, and the second was after they’d split.   
  
“Maybe, but I don’t think so,” Shiro muses. “Zarkon was able to fight me there too and he was galaxies away. Maybe distance in the real world doesn’t mean anything in the astral plane. That might be how I heard you.”   
  
“Maybe, but I didn’t go there,” Ryou says. Shiro’s tried to describe the place to him before, to no effect. The closest Ryou has ever seen is pitch blackness.   
  
“I’ll try it anyway,” Shiro decides. “If I can figure out how to get there, anyway. The first time Zarkon dragged me in, and the second time the bayard did it. I think. In retrospect, it might have been the Black Lion that nudged me the right way. Everyone else said they just warped straight to the merged mind-scape, but I didn’t.”   
  
“Well, I did sort of hear you before, when the Galra vines had me,” Ryou says. “If you get in there, try to send me some kind of message, and we’ll know we’re on to something.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
The line goes silent as Shiro tries to do whatever it is needed to go plane-hopping. The Black Lion doesn’t react in any way as Ryou stares up at its head, so things are probably fine. Ryou settles in on his crate, and watches, and waits.  
  
And waits.  
  
And _waits._   
  
He taps his index finger absently against his cheek after five doboshes, and starts drumming his metal fingers on the pale green knee guard of his armor after ten. By fifteen his thoughts start to shift towards worry, but he’s definitely sure they’re all his.   
  
“Hey, Shiro?” he finally calls. “How you holding up in there?”  
  
No answer.   
  
“Shiro. Hey. I’m not hearing you. Answer verbally.”   
  
No answer.   
  
Ryou sits up straight, dropping his hands into his lap and eyeing one gleaming yellow eye of the Black Lion. “You taking a nap in there?”   
  
Nothing.  
  
“You _alive_ in there?”  
  
Nothing.  
  
“You’d better be _in_ there,” Ryou says warningly. “No more of this ‘getting teleported across the galaxy just to get captured’ crap. It was hard enough to find you the first time.”  
  
No answer. Biting his lip, Ryou finally hops off of the crate and heads for the Black Lion’s hatch again, now more than a little concerned.  
  
The good news is Shiro is in fact still in there—the pilot seat is occupied. But he still gives Ryou a heart attack anyway, because he’s slumped in his seat, head tilted back against the headrest, eyes closed, fingers curled loosely around the controls.   
  
“Hell,” Ryou snaps. “You’d better not be dead. I don’t know how I would explain that to anyone.” He slides his left hand next to the high collar of the paladin armor underneath Shiro’s jaw to feel for a pulse, and is relieved to find a strong beat at his fingertips. He sighs. “Thank goodness.”  
  
 _He lives,_ the Black Lion’s presence in his head informs him. It’s almost like an adult soothing a distraught child. _I am monitoring him. He is safe._   
  
If Black says Shiro’s okay, Ryou believes it. Even so, it’s still…eerie to watch. The Black Lion’s cabin is as familiar and as safe a place as any in Ryou’s memories, and it’s nothing like a pod or a cloning tube. But the purple glow of the Black Lion’s displays on Shiro’s slack face, and the way he’s slumped so helplessly, and doesn’t even seem aware that Ryou is there…all of it is a little too familiar to be comfortable. It’s a lot like when he’d first found Shiro in a coma.   
  
Or it’s a lot like other, worse things.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head sharply to try and drive away the thoughts. _Not_ the time. A few quick breath exercises help, at least, stilling the darker memories stirring in the back of his head, but even so it’s disconcerting.  
  
Blinking his eyes open, he reaches out cautiously to poke Shiro in the shoulder. Shiro doesn’t respond, but his body does start to tip over in the seat, enough that Ryou has to hastily reach out to grab him by both shoulders and set him upright again.   
  
“You’re…you’re _sure_ he’s okay?” Ryou asks, uneasy. “This isn’t another dream cage or something?”  
  
 _He is fine,_ the Black Lion repeats. It sounds a little irritable with him this time, like it’s trying hard to be reassuring but doesn’t enjoy being asked the same question twice. _I am watching him in the astral plane._   
  
“He looks kind of…” _Vulnerable. Helpless_. “…asleep.”   
  
_This can be a dangerous state,_ the Black Lion says. _That is why it must never be attempted outside of our safety. The paladin will be vulnerable to physical attack, but we will protect them. It can be powerful too, if used well._   
  
“It’s creepy,” Ryou says with a shudder. He doesn’t like seeing Shiro look so…empty. It’s the same reason he can never quite convince himself to stick nearby in the infirmary whenever Shiro’s been podded over an injury.  
  
 _You will grow used to it,_ the Black Lion says. _He says, Speak._  
  
Ryou can all but hear the capital letter in that sentence. He shakes his head again and once more tries thinking about the main character’s name from _Demonsphere_ , but nothing happens. He’s not sure if Shiro hears him, and he definitely doesn’t hear anything in return.  
  
“I’m not getting anything,” he says finally. “Can you ask him to please come back? This is seriously starting to creep me out a little and it’s not doing anything.”   
  
The Black Lion rumbles in his head in exasperation. But it must pass the message along, because a few moments later Shiro’s eyes snap open and he gasps. A head shake and several confused blinks later, he says, “Woah. Okay. That’s…disorienting, still. Need to practice that transition better.”  
  
Ryou really hopes his relief doesn’t transmit across the Voltron link, or the effort it takes to mask his expression would be sort of pointless. “Sounds like you figured out how to get there, at last.”  
  
“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, sitting up better in his seat. “I think it could get easier and faster over time, with practice. And we’ll definitely need to get better at it anyway, if that’s how we’d communicate long distance.”   
  
“If you’re sure that’s it,” Ryou says, skeptical.   
  
“It has to be,” Shiro says. “I _know_ I heard you there last time. I was trying to find the spot I heard you in when I was there just now—it was a lot darker. I didn’t see it, and I didn’t hear you, but it must be somewhere.”   
  
“I didn’t hear you either,” Ryou says. He’s not entirely sure Shiro’s on to something, but Shiro seems quite insistent. It’s hard for Ryou to really say, though. He’s never seen this place.   
  
Shiro sighs. “Well. You should at least try to see if you can get there tonight. Maybe we didn’t figure out the communication piece, but I’m pretty sure this is step one. Even if it isn’t, it’d be a good idea to know how to get to that plane and control it better. Zarkon almost had me cold because I didn’t know how to fight there. And obviously it’s useful for Voltron.”   
  
He gets out of the pilot seat and goes to sit against one of the dashboards, gesturing for Ryou to take his place. Ryou gets the practicality of what Shiro’s saying, but even so he hesitates, and eyes the chair like it’s made out of something toxic.   
  
Shiro had been completely vulnerable. The Black Lion had even admitted the paladin was helpless in that state. And Ryou does not relish the thought of being so…empty. He’s seen too many bodies with his face laying around like that. He’s _been_ one. He doesn’t want to be one again.   
  
Shiro must catch _something_ of his unease, either on his face or via the Black Lion’s link, because his expression softens. _It’s really not that bad, I promise,_ he says by thought, and the words carry extra impressions of calm and absolutely no fear. _It’s just like dreaming. And words can’t do that place justice. If you don’t have my memories, you have to see it yourself. It’s incredible._  
  
That doesn’t sound _as_ bad. Words might not do it justice, but Ryou can feel the raw wonder and amazement attached to Shiro’s thoughts of the plane. It’s enough to ease most of his nerves, enough that he finally settles down in the pilot’s seat and reaches for the controls. _Okay. How do I get there?_  
  
 _It’s hard to explain,_ Shiro says. His thoughts convey feelings of meditation and sinking, or maybe flying, letting go of the sensation of the physical world to let his mind slip to a different point of reality. It’s hard to understand, even when conveyed in thought, even when the two of them share similar thought patterns. It’s not much help at all.   
  
Still, Ryou tries. He closes his eyes, settles back into the paladin’s seat, and tries to let go of the physical plane. He tries to reduce the sensation of the controls beneath his hands, or the metallic smells of the Black Lion’s cabin, or the sound of Shiro’s breathing. He tries to push it all aside and let himself float, or sink, or fly, or whatever it takes to go to this other place Shiro’s been to three times now.   
  
But nothing happens. All he sees is the pitch blackness of his own eyelids. There’s no transcendence. Nothing so indescribable it can’t even be explained in words or in thoughts. The Black Lion is inexplicably silent.  
  
He tries for ten full doboshes, struggling to find a way there, but he feels stuck in place. Finally he sighs, cracking his eyes open and letting his head slump forward in defeat.  
  
“Anything?” Shiro asks, frowning.   
  
Ryou shakes his head wordlessly.   
  
Shiro sighs, but claps his left hand on Ryou’s shoulder sympathetically. “Well, let’s call it a night for now. It’s late. We figured out a few things, at least. It’s more than we had this morning.”  
  
“Sure,” Ryou agrees, rising from the paladin’s chair and following Shiro out the cabin.   
  
But he can’t help but feel like he just failed some sort of test.   
  


* * *

  
  
It’s another four quintents before they’re able to try training with the Black Lion again.   
  
Between a minor mission and one set of opening talks for another planet joining the coalition, both Shiro and Ryou are quite busy. The extra time lets Ryou come to terms with his first failed attempt at the astral plane, at least. It doesn’t sting quite as badly as it did the first night, when he laid awake in bed for an extra two vargas, mulling over what he could have done wrong. So after four quintents Ryou’s ready to give the Black Lion another shot, and agrees to head down to the hangar with Shiro after dinner to practice.   
  
Ryou settles into the Black Lion’s pilot seat first, while Shiro sits against the dashboard again, crossing his arms. This time, the attempt doesn’t feel quite as unsettling as it did the first time, possibly because Ryou hadn’t seen Shiro effectively comatose five doboshes prior. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath as he wraps his hands around the controls, and tries to imitate Shiro’s thoughts to sink into the astral plane.  
  
Nothing happens.  
  
Ryou’s come at the task with more confidence and less nerves, but that doesn’t make an ounce of difference. He still struggles to push everything away and go into that other place, and it still doesn’t happen. The Black Lion is silent; he can feel its presence around him, but it doesn’t comment. He’s still hyper aware of sitting in the pilot’s chair, of the controls beneath his hands, of Shiro’s presence just two feet away. Even with his eyes closed, he’s aware of each tick that passes to no effect.   
  
Fifteen doboshes in, his shoulders sag, and he drops his hands into his lap as he wearily opens his eyes. “Still nothing.”  
  
Shiro frowns. “That’s weird. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”  
  
“Your connection to Black has always been better than mine,” Ryou points out. He feels exhausted, and he hadn’t even done anything. “Everything is always a little farther away than I remember from you. I can’t use the wings.” His head sinks. “Maybe being a copy means I can’t do this, either.”  
  
 _“Hey.”_ Shiro’s hand settles on his shoulder, and he nudges insistently until Ryou meets his eye. “You’re not just a copy. You’re a paladin in your own right. Black chose _you_ too. I know you can do this.”   
  
Ryou’s lips twitch into a bitter smile. “Does that count as believing in somebody else, or self confidence?”  
  
“Ryou. I’m serious here,” Shiro says, frowning. “You can’t think of yourself as a weaker version of me for this. That’s self-defeating.”   
  
“Did you just insult yourself?”   
  
Shiro glares at him. Ryou sighs. “Sorry. I just…I need to think about how to do this. Why don’t we switch off for now? We know you can get in there. We can test the next part at least.”   
  
“You’re sure?” Shiro asks.  
  
“Shiro, if I try this any more today, I’m going to start screaming,” Ryou says. “Please. Just switch off.” He rises from the pilot’s chair deliberately, nudging Shiro’s hand off of his shoulder, and steps aside. Shiro doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods, and settles down in the chair in Ryou’s place.  
  
“Okay,” Shiro says. “How do we do this? What happened last time that made this different?”  
  
Ryou frowns. “Last time I called out when I was I was in danger. It was just sort of instinctive. I wasn’t doing anything on purpose, I was just…scared.”   
  
“I’m sure that had something to do with it, but I’d rather _not_ put you in mortal peril just to test a theory,” Shiro says.   
  
“Yeah, I appreciate that.” Ryou considers. “Now that I think about it, the Black Lion found me the same way, back when I still thought I was you. I was dying at the time and it notified Keith. I wasn’t calling for help then, though…at least, I don’t think I was. And Keith never heard me at all.”   
  
Shiro taps one finger on the control levers, thoughtful. “I wonder if we hooked into the Black Lion’s ability to know when its pilot is in danger,” he says, after a moment.  
  
“You mean like when the Lions just show up to save one of us?” Ryou asks, raising an eyebrow.   
  
“Yes,” Shiro says slowly. “But the Lions usually act on their own accord. You can’t notify them when you’re in danger and need help. They just show up. And we’ve never had a case like this, with two paladins active at the same time. Or a case like us, where we’re genetically the same person. Maybe that boosts the signal a little, when there’s an extra person to listen.”  
  
“All the Lions seem capable of doing a lot more when they have a pilot,” Ryou agrees slowly. “If you sitting there super-charges its other abilities, it could boost that too. There’s just never been anyone else to listen for before when the only pilot was already in the Lion.”   
  
“Black couldn’t figure out where you were on Olkarion,” Shiro agrees. “But I could hear that you were in danger, and then order Lance to look for you.” He frowns again. “It’s a decent enough theory, but there’s no way to really test it.”  
  
“There might be,” Ryou says.   
  
Shiro eyes him suspiciously. “You aren’t going to do anything dangerous, are you?”  
  
Ryou holds up a placating hand. “No. Promise. I’m not that stupid. I have a different idea, and I don’t even need to leave this cabin. Jump into the astral plane. I’ll give you five doboshes and give this a shot. If we’re lucky, you’ll be able to hear me.”   
  
Shiro still seems cautious, but Ryou’s promise that he won’t even leave the cabin seems to help. “Alright.” He closes his eyes and settles back against the seat. It takes him a dobosh or two, presumably to figure out the mental pathing required to get to the astral plane. But Ryou still knows the moment he must figure it out, because suddenly his whole body loses tension and slumps just slightly in place.   
  
Ryou doesn’t watch for too long. It’s a little easier this time, having seeing Shiro active just ticks prior; more like watching him go to sleep. But the way he’d slumped still looked unsettlingly like someone or something had just turned him off, and Ryou doesn’t like seeing him looks so empty…like a body just waiting to be filled with a mind. So he sits down behind the paladin’s seat, back to back with it and Shiro, close enough to monitor without having any visuals.   
  
He counts out five doboshes, by the clock on his visor’s visuals. Then, hoping Shiro’s had enough time to transfer to the astral plane and get acclimated, he closes his eyes and sets his plan in motion.   
  
And he thinks about the quintent when the Galra attacked Olkarion.  
  
It’s not his brightest idea. Poking at awful memories in one’s head is not really healthy or safe by _anyone’s_ standards. He’s probably signing himself up for another night of nightmares just by trying this—but if he’s honest with himself, those were bound to come anyway. Olkarion is too fresh, still. It hasn’t had a chance to fade.   
  
Now it will probably take even longer to do so. He already knows Shiro’s going to ream him out for this. But at least it’s safer than actively putting himself in danger.   
  
So he thinks back to the moment when his original Olkari prosthetic had been infected with the Galra’s virus. When it had started to act against his will, twisting on itself grotesquely, becoming something completely inhuman in form and intent. He can all but feel the vines slithering over him as they drag him in deeper; he can all but smell the rot. The remains of his right arm throb in sympathy and in memory of the pain, and he bites his lip to hold in a hiss in reaction. He remembers his harsh, panicked breathing as the vines dragged him in deeper, and now his own breaths grow harsher to match.   
  
The raw terror he felt is more distant now—not so immediate as it had been. The memory is intense, but it’s just a memory. This doesn’t feel quite the same as Shiro’s flashbacks, when he’s dragged back into the moment whether he likes it or not. Ryou is sill aware he’s sitting in the Black Lion’s cabin, back to back with Shiro’s chair.   
  
But the fear is still _there_ —the wild panic he’d felt when he’d realized what the vines were doing. His frantic calls for help over the paladin communications, and the stark terror when he’d realized no one could hear him screaming. The desperation with which he’d called for help in his mind, because he’d had no other action to take.   
  
He rides that feeling, and when his memory-self pleads for help in his head, Ryou does the same in the here and now. _Please. Help me._   
  
There’s a _thud_ and a sharp metallic clatter that Ryou feels just as much as he hears, reverberating against his back. He snaps his eyes open with a gasp, and his heart slams in his chest, fight or flight going into overdrive on top of the already frightening memories. He’s on his feet before he even realizes it, just in time to hear the frantic scrambling as Shiro yells, _“Ryou!”_  
  
“Here,” Ryou says hastily, moving back into Shiro’s visuals. “I’m here, I’m fine.”  
  
Shiro’s halfway out of his seat and already looking around frantically for Ryou, but he relaxes when he sees him. “Are you okay? What _was_ that? You were _hurting._ Black and I both felt it.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Ryou says. “I promise I’m fine.”  
  
“You’re pale.”  
  
“It was a memory,” Ryou says. He winces. “One I may have poked on purpose.”  
  
 _“Ryou!”_ Shiro snaps. “ _That_ was your idea? I thought you just figured out a way to call me!”  
  
“I did,” Ryou says. His hands are shaking a little as the memory and the adrenaline surge start to pull back, and he hastily folds his hands across his chest to hide them. “I just…re-enacted the original scenario, that’s all. If it’s a panic situation that lets you be able to hear me, then a memory ought to do just as well as putting me in danger. And I wasn’t _really_ hurting.”  
  
“Just because you weren’t physically hurting doesn’t mean it wasn’t hurting you,” Shiro snaps. “Don’t ever do that again, got it? That’s a damn order. We can figure it out some other way.”  
  
“Fine,” Ryou says. Truth be told, he’s not exactly eager to do that again, anyway. “I won’t. But at least I accomplished something useful today.”  
  
“Don’t tell me you did that because the astral plane didn’t work for you.”  
  
“Alright,” Ryou says. “I won’t.” And before Shiro—who looks quite visibly frustrated with him, and is letting it bleed over the Black Lion’s link—can say anything else, he cuts him off. “It worked, right? You heard me.”  
  
Shiro sighs. “Yes. You called for help. It…was quieter than last time, from what I remember. Maybe because it was a memory. But I felt it.”  
  
“Which proves you were right,” Ryou says. “If the paladin is in danger, or I guess _perceives_ themselves in danger, the Black Lion will pick up on it. But with you there, you could actually hear it and pick out more details.” He frowns. “It’s too bad we can’t practice talking back, though.”  
  
“We are _not_ doing that again,” Shiro says, very firmly. “We proved that it worked. That’s enough. As long as I’m keyed into the astral plane when you’re in danger, I’ll be able to hear you.”  
  
“Can you repeat it though?” Ryou asks, frowning.  
  
“Talking back? Yes. Last time, I just shouted back at you when I was there. Talking back was the easy part.” Shiro shakes his head firmly. “It’s not like it was ever a conversation, anyway. More like yelling across a chasm and hoping the other got the message. So if you’re in danger and you need help, and I’m flying Black, call for me. Even if it feels like you’re just yelling in your head, there’s a chance I can pick up the basics, at least.”   
  
“As long as you can master the astral plane,” Ryou says.  
  
“Yeah. That’s where the training will need to focus, I think,” Shiro says.   
  
“Lovely,” Ryou mutters under his breath. The theory’s alright, but based on his current progress, there’s no way he can return the favor. If Shiro’s out there and ever needs Ryou’s help, he’s going to be shit out of luck. Ryou won’t be able to help him worth a damn, and that makes him feel worse than even clawing up his own recent traumas did.   
  
“Not tonight,” Shiro says, catching Ryou’s tone. “We’re both done for tonight. That was enough of a heart attack for the both of us.”   
  
“Sure,” Ryou says. “Still made progress, right?”  
  
“Right,” Shiro agrees.   
  
But the victory still feels sort of hollow, and it must show on Ryou’s face. Shiro nudges him gently in the arm, and asks via Black’s thought link, _You gonna be okay?_ In thought, Ryou can feel the concern and worry attached to the question much better than he ever could in pure words.   
  
_I’ll be fine,_ Ryou answers, and tries to convey as much ease and calm as he can with the thoughts.  
  
 _Are you sure?_ Shiro presses, frowning. He’s clearly not buying it. _You really didn’t have to do that. That’s going to cost you tonight. We both know it._  
  
 _I’ll be fine,_ Ryou repeats.   
  
Shiro seems to know full well that’s a lie. _You can always come get me, if you can’t sleep_ , he says. _We can pull out one of Pidge’s movies or something instead. Get milkshakes and snacks and make fun of the stupid things the characters do._  
  
 _I’d be the one making the shakes and snacks_ , Ryou points out, trying to edge towards humor. _You just want free food._  
  
 _It makes you feel better when you do,_ Shiro says, without a trace of humor. _But we don’t have to do the food part if you don’t want to._ Shiro’s thoughts don’t directly use the words, but the ‘sometimes it’s nice to just not be alone’ is there in the impressions.  
  
 _I don’t need a babysitter when I have bad dreams, Shiro,_ Ryou says bluntly. _And I’m not going to wake you up when you’re getting a decent night’s sleep._ He never directly says the words either, but the impressions in the thoughts say ‘not when you get so little as it is’ and ‘not when you never ask for that help either’ sharply enough that Shiro will get the idea.   
  
Shiro frowns. _I’m serious._  
  
 _So am I. I’ll be fine._   
  
Shiro clearly doesn’t buy it for a second, but he can’t make Ryou do anything he doesn’t want want to. He finally sighs out loud and shakes his head. “Fine,” he says, returning to spoken words. “But that’s an open invitation if you change your mind.”  
  
“Only if you agree to the same,” Ryou challenges…mostly because he doubts Shiro would ever act on that. Shiro would rather deal with bad memories and bad dreams by himself, not drag others in. It’s hardly any wonder he passed that to Ryou, too.   
  
Judging by the expressions that flick across Shiro’s face lightning quick, he’s had the same thought, once he imagines it from the other side. But he just nods. “Fine,” he agrees. “Now let’s call it a night on this. We can come back another day to practice getting into the astral plane better.”  
  
“Or at all,” Ryou mutters.  
  
“That much, I know you can do,” Shiro says reassuringly. “We just need to figure out how.”  
  
Ryou wishes he had that much faith in himself. 

* * *

  
To absolutely no surprise, that night is fairly miserable. Ryou doesn’t take up Shiro’s offer of midnight movies or snacks or just hanging out, and Shiro doesn’t pester him about it in the morning. Although he does give him a sympathetic look when he spots the dark lines under Ryou’s eyes the next day, and doesn’t push him as hard during morning practice. It’s about the most they’ll be able to compromise on that.  
  
It’s another two quintents before they can try experimenting with the Black Lion’s connection again. They don’t attempt to trigger the connection itself once more; with the way it requires severe danger or fear to activate, there’s no way to do so safely. They have no idea of the extent of the range, which isn’t great. But the Black Lion can already hear them quite far away, and with a paladin to boost the signal it might be even farther still. In the meantime they can practice diving into the astral plane faster, so that in the event one of them _does_ need to call for help, the other can pick up on the call quickly enough.  
  
More specifically, _Shiro_ practices diving into the astral plane faster. And he does get fairly good at it, during their next session, and others that follow. The more he practices, the more he gets familiar with the exact mindset needed to make the jump into the astral plane, and to slip there quickly. Over practice sessions, the time he spends meditating until the point when he slumps in his seat as his mind crosses over grows smaller, from two doboshes to one to thirty ticks, and  he’s sure he can get faster still at it.   
  
He also learns to leave quickly, which is equally important. A paladin in the astral plane is vulnerable in the real world, and if this were to happen mid-battle, he wouldn’t be able to pilot the Black Lion in the middle of his plane jump. That means ducking into the astral plane just long enough to pick up a cry for help, and maybe yell back. Things move faster there—everything moves at the speed of thought there, according to Shiro—but getting the timing down to only a matter of ticks in the real world will take practice.   
  
He’s leaps and bounds ahead of Ryou in that regard, because six more practice sessions later, Ryou still hasn’t made it into the astral plane at all.   
  
It’s not like he hasn’t made an effort. Ryou’s shown up for every practice session with Shiro, trying to figure out how to make his way into the astral plane. He tries everything, from doing his best to imitate Shiro’s process, to meditation, to just sitting quietly in the Black Lion for a time.   
  
When that doesn't work, he struggles to try and recover the memories of Shiro’s he _should_ have had. Maybe if he’s lucky, they were only forgotten for a time, not permanently erased from his brain. He claws at the blank spaces in his head, trying to find something, _anything,_ that can trigger an idea of how to get to this mysterious other place he still hasn’t seen. But still, the only thing he sees is blackness and emptiness.   
  
Shiro tries to help, where he can. Unfortunately his descriptions—even conveyed over the thought-link the Black Lion provides in the cabin—are still complicated and hard to grasp. Ryou’s never struggled to understand something Shiro conveys before, a benefit of once having been the same person, but Shiro’s thought-based explanations feel garbled and indistinct. It’s like trying to comprehend a language he doesn’t understand. It’s something that has to be experienced, Ryou thinks.   
  
Shiro offers other suggestions too, when his descriptions don’t work. “Maybe try the black bayard,” he says, one session. “That’s how I got there the second time. Or at least, I think it helped.”  
  
Ryou tries it, inserting the bayard into its slot in the Black Lion’s dashboard, but when he turns it and it clicks into place, nothing happens. He isn’t instantly transported to the astral plane; the bayard being inserted doesn’t even make the meditation any easier. “Nothing,” Ryou says bitterly, after a full varga of attempts, as he withdraws the bayard and hands it back to Shiro.   
  
“I don’t know where I’m _going,”_ Ryou finally admits, frustrated, four training sessions in. “How am I supposed to get there when I don’t even have directions or an end goal? I’m flying blind, here.”  
  
Shiro considers. “I wonder if I could give you my memories?” he asks out loud.  
  
Ryou’s eyebrows both raise in surprise. “Because that went so well the first time,” he says.  
  
Shiro shakes his head. “Not _implanting_ them,” he says. “I wonder if I can use the link in the Black Lion to show you what I see. Maybe if you can see the end goal, you’ll have an easier time getting there.”  
  
It is possible to push imagery into words and thoughts. They’ve both done it when communicating concepts. “Worth a shot,” Ryou admits. “As long as you don’t mind sharing.”   
  
“You already have half my brain anyway,” Shiro says. “What’s one more memory?” He closes his eyes, and Ryou does as well to shut out any distractions.  
  
The imagery and sound that hits his brain is a bit warped and stilted, flicking between moments as fast as Shiro can think of them, and faded like only a memory can be. It’s from Shiro’s perspective, which Ryou is used to, but this doesn’t feel like any of his implanted memories. This is more like watching a movie from a first person perspective, immersive but not intense, not intricately connected to _himself_. It’s baffling, which Ryou finds frankly unfair—if anybody should be used to Shiro’s memories by now, it should be _him._   
  
But the memories themselves are confusing too. In the first, Shiro duels with Zarkon in a wide field of stars, until the Black Lion appears out of nowhere to save him. Ryou _knows_ he’s supposed to have his memory—he probably _had_ once owned it, before his illness. But now it feels foreign and completely unknown to him, and that’s a strange feeling. The other is even more strange—Shiro appears in the same field of stars again, and listens to what Ryou can only bewilderingly identify as _himself_ calling out for help.   
  
But in both cases he does see enough of the surrounding area that he can only assume is the astral plane to have an end goal in mind. The memory feels muted, but he can identify the wide field of stars and a world with a permanent eclipse, and that’s enough to give him some confidence. He sets his mind thinking hard on that strange world, digs his fingers into the Black Lion’s control levers, and concentrates on reaching that place.  
  
He fails.   
  
“I don’t understand what I’m doing _wrong,_ ” Ryou hisses in frustration. He’s tried everything, and he’s put every scrap of effort into getting to the astral plane, but nothing’s worked. He hasn’t felt so frustrated in his dealings with the Black Lion since the day he first tried to pilot it and was rejected, back when he’d still thought he was Shiro.   
  
“You’ll figure it out,” Shiro says. “We just need to figure out how.” He’s never doubted for a second that Ryou can do it—Ryou’s felt that in his thoughts, when they’re both in the Black Lion. But he is confused and frustrated by it too. It had never been this hard for him, and he can’t begin to understand where the disconnect is for Ryou.  
  
Ryou wishes he knew. Or rather, he wishes he knew an alternative solution, but the more he struggles with this, the more he begins to realize there’s only one major difference between himself and Shiro. “Maybe it’s time to face facts,” he says wearily. “Maybe this just isn’t something I’m capable of as a clone. I’ve tried, but maybe I should just come to terms with the fact that I won’t have that level of control.”  
  
Shiro frowns. “I still don’t think that’s the answer. The Black Lion would have intervened by now if you couldn’t.”   
  
Ryou’s not so sure he’s right. The Black Lion has been awful silent for most of Ryou’s attempts. He can always sense its presence when he’s in the cabin, and it will occasionally communicate with both of them. But it’s never voiced its opinion on Ryou’s attempts to get into the astral plane one way or another.   
  
Then again, maybe it knows something that Ryou doesn’t. So the next quintent he heads down to the Black Lion by himself, outside of his and Shiro’s usual training periods. He settles down in the pilot’s seat by himself and wraps his hands around the controls, closes his eyes, and tries to concentrate.  
  
Like always, he doesn’t make it to the astral plane. He doesn’t even feel the beginnings of the sensation of slipping into that other world the way Shiro describes it.  
  
So after half a varga, he finally directs his thoughts to the Black Lion instead. _Help me,_ he asks it. _What am I doing wrong?_  
  
The Black Lion’s mind stirs, like it was waiting for him to ask, but at first it doesn’t speak.   
  
_Why can’t I get to this place, if I’m your paladin?_ Ryou presses. He knows it hears him, now. _I’ve tried so many ways._ His mind flicks through dozens of memories of failed attempts, presenting them all to the Black Lion.  
  
The Lion’s mind stirs again, and he can _feel_ its disapproval with his numerous attempts and numerous memories. It finally answers. _This is not a place for shadows. You must be real._   
  
Ryou feels the answer like a slap in the face. It _hurts_. He’s always known the Black Lion never liked him as much as Shiro, but to have it so blatantly call him out on being a fake is painful.   
  
His thoughts flick through a complicated series of emotions all at once—frustration, confusion, shame, hurt—and his answer, when he can finally work himself into an answer at all, is bitter. “Oh,” he says, this time out loud. “Well. Yeah. I know I’m not the real thing. I guess a copy like me doesn’t get access, huh? Fine. That’s fine. That’s okay. I get it. I’m a second backup anyway. It’s not like access would even be required of me.”  
  
The Black Lion’s thoughts roil in his head. He can feel anger or frustration of some kind, but its thoughts are too big for him to interpret. There’s just too _much_ , and it’s trying to convey too many things for him to handle. Listening to the Black Lion has always felt like trying to listen through a filter or a closed door: muted and difficult, and the more complex the thoughts, the harder it is to understand.  
  
It finally stops after a moment, and insists again, _You must be_ real.   
  
“I get it,” Ryou says. “I’m sorry I wasted your time with this. Shiro and Keith are probably better for you, anyway. They’re real, and they can probably both hear you better.”  
  
The Black Lion’s frustration still roils in his head. He has he impression of a caged wildcat, pacing back and forth restlessly, just waiting for something to pounce on. It’s still trying to say something, but its agitation, and Ryou’s frustration, are blurring the ideas too much. He can’t make any sense of it.  
  
He gives up, and leaves wordlessly, slinking back to his room in shame.

* * *

  
  
Shiro finds him the next quintent on the training deck, taking out his frustrations on a close-combat Gladiator. Ryou’s normally given to ranged combat these days, but the little hovering orbs used for target practice aren’t nearly so satisfying to beat up, and you can’t punch them.   
  
He smashes the latest training bot victim into the ground, and it shatters into data. He’s panting, but before he can call for another to be activated, Shiro calls him from across the training deck. “Hey. Where were you?”  
  
Ryou looks up. Shiro’s crossing the training deck, still in his black and white paladin armor, even though regular training is long since completed. Their secondary training isn’t, though—which was exactly what Ryou had been avoiding.  
  
He shrugs, uncomfortable. “Hey. Sorry. Didn’t see much point in showing up. The Black Lion seemed kind of angry with me.”  
  
“Angry?”   
  
“Or fed up,” Ryou says. He can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his tone. “I guess it got tired of dealing with a fake.”  
  
“You’re not a fake,” Shiro says automatically.   
  
“Tell that to the Black Lion,” Ryou says, sullen. “It didn’t have any problem calling me out on it last night.”  
  
Shiro frowns. “Okay. Hold up. What exactly happened?”   
  
Ryou sighs. “I went down to the Black Lion last night to practice. I asked it for help. I figured maybe it would know why I couldn’t get into the astral plane.” He chuckles a little, but the noise is bitter. “It knew, all right. Seemed frustrated that I even bothered to ask. It’s not a place for fakes, I guess.”  
  
“You’re _not_ a—“  
  
“I am,” Ryou says. “Literally the definition of a clone. ‘Not the real thing.’ It’s fine. I get it. I’ll come to terms with it with the Lion. I already did once before.”   
  
But Shiro shakes his head, insistent. “That doesn’t sound like the Black Lion. What _exactly_ did it say?”  
  
“You know they don’t use words,” Ryou says, but at Shiro’s firm stare, he sighs. “As far as I could understand, it said it wasn’t a place for shadows. That I had to be real.”   
  
“Shadow?” Shiro says. “It _felt_ like a shadow, right? Feeling like…like a shape, but not a form? Or a reflection?”  
  
Ryou frowns, trying to think back. “Something like that, yeah,” he says finally. It’s hard to tell exactly—speaking to the Black Lion is always tricky, and Ryou gets the feeling it puts so many more concepts and ideals into its communications that Ryou never receives. He only ever seems to pick up the Lion’s surface thoughts. But that sounded about right.  
  
“That’s not an insult,” Shiro says. “That’s how it talks about _you.”_   
  
“What?”  
  
“When it talks to me about you,” Shiro says. “It doesn’t use names. The Lions never seem to. They use…impressions, of how they interpret our minds. It can’t call you ‘paladin’ when I’m flying—I’m the paladin then. It calls you my shadow, only with more impression, less actual words. It’s just…its name, for you, I guess.”  
  
Ryou blinks at that. That was…unexpected, actually. He’d never even considered that before as an option; it’s not like he’s ever had to have an in-depth discussion about Shiro or Keith with the Black Lion before.   
  
Though, now that he thinks about it, something similar had happened when he’d first been flying the Black Lion while searching for a then-missing Shiro. It had always used images and feelings of strength and light and tempered steel and loyalty and honor whenever it asked _where is my paladin_ of him, with a sense of worry and eagerness. He supposes that had been the Black Lion’s own way of naming its _real_ paladin.   
  
Not that it makes a difference, in the end. “Does that even matter?” Ryou asks. “If it only thinks I’m a shape without a form it can’t think much of me. It made it clear a shadow doesn’t belong. I have to be ‘real.’ And I’m not.”  
  
Beating up Galadiator bots is rapidly losing its appeal, now. Suddenly, he just feels tired.  
  
“Hey.” Shiro’s hand is on his shoulder now. “Are you _sure_ that’s what it meant?”  
  
“It’s about the only thing I’ve ever heard it say loud and clear.”  
  
“But you said it sounded frustrated. You thought it was angry with you. Maybe it was trying to tell you something else.”   
  
Ryou shakes his head, disbelieving.   
  
“Look at me,” Shiro says. Ryou grudgingly meets his eyes, and only then does Shiro continue. “I know you think it doesn’t like you much, but the Black Lion trusts you more than you realize. It wouldn’t have let me hear you last time if you weren’t its paladin in mortal peril, right? You _matter._ I refuse to believe it would tell you to get lost just because you’re a clone.”  
  
“You’re not the one who had to deal with it for all the months it knew I was a clone and its real paladin _wasn’t there,_ ” Ryou mutters.   
  
“Look. Let’s just go talk to it a least, okay?” Shiro bargains. “No training. We don’t even have to think about the astral plane. But it wanted to tell you something, and it’s important to listen to your Lion.”  
  
Ryou sighs…but as frustrating as the encounter will be, he knows what Shiro says is true. Communication with anyone’s Lion is fundamental. Bonding is what makes them so strong, and their pilot more capable. He should at least try…even if he’s fairly certain the encounter will end painfully. “Fine.”  
  
“Okay. Great. And I’ll be there to help, if it’s needed,” Shiro promises. “Moral support, if nothing else. Things will be fine. You’ll see.”  
  
Ryou doesn’t believe it, but he does follow Shiro down into the Black Lion’s hangar anyway. The moment he enters the cabin he can feel the Black Lion’s mind all around him, tense like a coiled spring, waiting and watchful, and that does nothing to ease his nerves.   
  
Shiro must feel it too, but he only nudges Ryou gently to the pilot’s seat. _Okay,_ he says mentally, over the link the Black Lion offers to them. _Let’s talk._   
  
The effect is almost instant. He can all but _feel_ the Lion’s mind sharpen around them, waiting, intense. But it also conveys…Ryou’s not sure, exactly. It’s not an apology, exactly, but it is trying to be calmer, he thinks. Or patient. It feels like…like a frustrated parent, when their children are struggling to overcome something. The problem is so simple to an adult, so frustratingly _obvious,_ but it’s a vast hurdle for their young to figure out. It’s so easy to be angry, but important to remind themselves to be calm.  
  
It makes Ryou feel very small, and very stupid, for throwing a tantrum and for feeling so defeated. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath, before addressing the Black Lion. _I’m sorry._   
  
He can feel the Lion’s forgiveness immediately. It understands is frustration. It understands it did not help. _Ask your questions,_ it says, patient.  
  
Ryou swallows. He’s a little afraid to ask again, even if everything is much calmer now. It must stretch across the link, because Shiro comes up to stand near the pilot’s seat, and puts a supportive hand on his shoulder silently.  
  
Ryou breathes deeply again, and says, _Why can’t I do this? Is…is there something wrong with me? Is it because I’m a clone?_   
  
He can feel the Black Lion’s agitation growing again almost immediately. The metal body of the Black Lion doesn’t so much as move, but Ryou swears he can feel its tail lashing.   
  
_You are not wrong,_ the Black Lion says, after a moment. The voice still feels distant, like it comes through a thick wall. _You are not wrong, but this place is not a place of shadows. You must be_ real.   
  
It’s calmer, but it still hurts just as much as the first time.  
  
Shiro makes a sharp hiss of surprise near him. For a moment, Ryou swears it’s angry, or indignant. But then he feels the spark of understanding from Shiro across the link, and there’s no frustration or anger in it. He’d gotten what the Lion meant, and it doesn’t feel _bad._   
  
Ryou reaches for that understanding through the link, but Shiro’s mind pulls back. He can all but feel the apologetic impressions coming off of him in waves, and looming greater still, he can feel the Black Lion watching, listening. It’s not something Shiro can just translate for him, Ryou slowly realizes. It’s a test…something he has to figure out for himself.   
  
He’s really not sure he can.   
  
But Shiro’s hand squeezes his shoulder encouragingly, and even if he can’t drop the answer for him, Ryou can still feel that belief and positivity. _You’re so close,_ it almost seems to say. _You can do this._   
  
If Shiro thinks he can do it, then maybe he can. He asks again. _If there’s nothing wrong with me, then why can’t I do this? Shiro can get there. I’m the same as him! I’ve tried everything he’s suggested. It doesn’t_ work!   
  
The Black Lion’s answer is like a roar in his head. _Shadow, you are_ not him. _You cannot_ be _a shadow. You must be a paladin. You. Must. Be._ Real!  
  
It’s so loud it hurts in his head, and the accusation makes it hurt even more. He flinches in place, but Shiro’s hand squeezes his shoulder encouragingly again, and he hears him whisper mentally. _Come on. You can do this, Ryou._  
  
 _You can do this, Ryou._  
  
Ryou.  
  
And suddenly, just like that, everything _clicks._   
  
After all, the Lions of Voltron can’t bond with only fragments of a person, and they don’t care about the mere shadow of a bond, either. _Shiro_ had bonded deeply with the Black Lion. Shiro’s clone had ridden on the essence of that bond that had already been established, imitated it in every way he remembered, and it had been enough to function on a basic level.  
  
But Ryou had never really bonded with the Black Lion as _himself._   
  
“It wasn’t _real,”_ he realizes, eyes wide. “It was never _mine_ , not fully. I was just…just copying what Shiro did. It was just a ghost. A…”  
  
 _Shadow,_ the Black Lion finishes. It feels content in his head now, a low growling in his head that he interprets as pleased. _Not real._   
  
No wonder everything always felt so distant. There had always been enough of Shiro in him to make him fit the qualities the Black Lion needed. Enough to fly, at least. Enough to make do. He could remember the basics and he’d imitated those exactly. But he’d never been able to summon the wings, or go deeper into that bond. The Black Lion had always felt so much quieter. So much harder to understand than he remembered.   
  
Because it was just an imitation. It wasn’t _his._ It was Shiro’s; he’d just been mimicking it, through a strange set of circumstances.   
  
_Then…what does this mean for me?_ Ryou asks slowly. If his bond had always been only a pale imitation of Shiro’s, then did that mean…?  
  
But the Black Lion cuts that thought away almost immediately. _You must be real,_ it repeats, patient. _To be a a paladin, you must be real._   
  
Except this time, the words feel clearer, and make a little more sense. This time, it’s not the Black Lion calling him out for being a clone. This time, it’s encouragement. _You must be who you are, not who Shiro is, to be a paladin. There must be no imitations._  
  
 _You must be real. It must be_ yours.  
  
Ryou swallows for a moment. _Then…am I still_ your _paladin?_ Was he even, as Ryou, what the Black Lion needed?  
  
But the Black Lion’s answer is warm and encouraging in his head. _I have always known you as my paladin, from the moment you pleaded with me to save the other paladins,_ it rumbles. _That is why I accepted you. I have only been waiting for you to be real._   
  
Ryou takes in a soft, shaky breath, and is surprised to find the rest of him shaking as well. And yet, despite that, he feels so much lighter, like a terrible burden has been taken from him.  
  
Shiro pats his shoulder, and then leans on his chair, grinning down at him. “There,” he says. “I knew it was just a misunderstanding. You just had to bond with your Lion on your own, like all the rest of us.”  
  
“No free rides,” Ryou agrees, still a little shaken, but relieved all the same. _Not a fake. Not a shadow. Real._   
  
_You helped him,_ the Black Lion says, a little accusingly. The thought is addressed towards Shiro. _You were not supposed to help him._ It actually sounds a little sulky, and a little lecturing.   
  
“I did what any good leader should do,” Shiro says. “I supported him. It’s one of the ideals you push for.”  
  
 _You can do this, Ryou._  
  
Ryou smiles a little, although it feels weak. “I…appreciate the help, honestly. I hadn’t thought…I have so many _memories_ of bonding with Black, I didn’t think I hadn’t…”  
  
“Extenuating circumstances,” Shiro says. “C’mon, Black. Cut him a little slack, here.”  
  
The Black Lion rumbles in Ryou’s head, grudgingly accepting. Ryou picks up that it’s a little annoyed with Shiro, but not enough to really be angry. It’s too pleased at finally having a proper bond with its latest paladin, not a pale imitation. It’s happy that its paladin finally sees with its own eyes, and not those of another.  
  
It’s so _clear,_ this time. There’s so much more below the surface thoughts that Ryou could only pick up before. Intention is so much sharper, impressions so much more vibrant. As long as he remembers, communicating with the Black Lion has been like listening to someone speaking through too many closed doors, but now those doors have been thrown open.   
  
For the first time he’s hearing— _really_ hearing—the Black Lion as _Ryou._ Not as Shiro’s clone, that happens to have most of the prerequisites by proxy, and can go through the motions as needed.  
  
And he realizes the Black Lion had never really hated him. It had never really even disliked him. It had just been frustrated, when Ryou insisted—unknowingly or not—on continuing a charade that the Lion had known wasn’t the truth from the beginning. All this time, it’s been waiting for him to _realize,_ for him to come to it as himself, and not as Shiro.  
  
 _I’m sorry it took me so long,_ he tells the Black Lion. _But if you’ll still have me, then I’m here as me._  
  
The Black Lion purrs in his head. _Of course. You are ready. Follow._ And its mind retreats just a little and waits, patiently, for him to trail after.  
  
The astral plane, Ryou realizes. For a moment, he thinks back to Shiro’s instructions, the memories, the suggestions—  
  
—but those are _Shiro’s_ ways, not _Ryou’s_ , and he realizes now that those things never would have worked, for him. He has to find his own way. He can’t just copy Shiro’s. His bond with the Black Lion isn’t Shiro’s.  
  
So he closes his eyes, and focuses on the Black Lion’s presence, and follows it deeper. The Lion leads him, staying just a little bit ahead always, deeper and deeper into the dark, until it stops. Ryou stops too, and opens his eyes, and—  
  
—and he’s not in the cabin of the Black Lion, not anymore. Instead, he stands in an infinite landscape of stars, brilliant and twinkling with life and power and serenity all in one. An eternal eclipse hovers in the sky, dark but not foreboding. There’s a brilliance to this place, a vibrance that Ryou has never in his life experienced before. It’s a place of life, so calm, so mesmerizing, and he can’t look away.  
  
Shiro had been right. Words didn’t do this place justice. Not even memories did. This place…it was _real,_ in a way that had to be experienced. A shadow could never understand this place.  
  
He knows why he couldn’t come here, before.   
  
There’s no ground here, but somehow he’s standing. He tries to take a step forward, and stumbles, as the floor-that-wasn’t loses substance. There’s nothing below, and for a moment he’s afraid he’ll float off forever through the stars beneath him.   
  
But something catches him under one arm. He looks up in surprise, to find Shiro next to him, holding him up. And Shiro…Shiro looks different now, too. He’s not exactly translucent, and he doesn’t really glow, but it’s like the darkness and the serenity of the world have leeched into his skin and clothing. He looks like he’s made of the spaces between the stars here, now. He looks like he belongs.  
  
“Careful,” Shiro says, and his voice has a strange, echoing sort of quality. He speaks like thoughts, Ryou realizes. “This place doesn’t really do solids unless you think about it. It’s all in your mind. Just think about standing and a floor and it’ll be there.”  
  
Ryou tries it, and manages to pull himself to his feet with Shiro’s help, placing a careful foot out into open space. There’s nothing there, but if he _imagines_ that he can stand there, if he just— _wills_ that he can, then he does.   
  
It’s confusing, but it works.  
  
“What do you think?” Shiro asks, grinning. “It’s so much better to see it, right?”  
  
“It’s incredible,” Ryou says. “It’s beautiful. I could never have imagined this.”  
  
“I’m glad you found your way here,” Shiro says. “I knew you could do it. We just had to figure out how.”  
  
“How are _you_ here?” Ryou asks. “I’m still in the pilot’s seat. I think. Right?”  
  
 _You are,_ the Black Lion’s voice rumbles. _I am sheltering you. Do not fear._   
  
Here, it’s so much louder that Ryou can feel it in his chest and in the floor he imagines, and it comes from behind him. He spins around in surprise, and finds the Black Lion towering over both of them, settled neatly back on its haunches, long metal tail wrapped around its left side. Ryou is reminded of documentaries he—well, _Shiro_ —had seen, of Earth lions out in the savannah. They casually watched over their little cubs while they played, letting them explore the world on their own but keeping them safe and protected all the same.  
  
“I’m sitting against the dashboard,” Shiro says. “I figured the Black Lion was escorting you here. Thought I’d join you.”  
  
“Thanks,” Ryou says. “Both of you. For actually believing I could do this, even when I didn’t.”   
  
The Black Lion purrs, and once again, Ryou can both hear it and feel it reverberating around him. Shiro smiles.   
  
“This is where you could hear me?” Ryou says, after a moment. He takes a few more tentative steps forward, and the not-ground he wills holds. “I’ll have to get used to getting here faster, and practice listening.” Now that he _can_ get here, there’s no way he’s going to slack, not if it means protecting Shiro when he needs help.  
  
“Yes,” Shiro says. “But if we can both get here at the same time, we might want to train on other things here, too. The first time I came here Zarkon nearly killed me because I didn’t know how to fight in this kind of environment. Maybe we should practice sparring sometime.”  
  
“If you have to maintain ground all the time, I can see how it’d be difficult,” Ryou says. He tests another step, faster this time.  
  
“It’s more than that,” Shiro says. “I’ve only figured out a fraction of the stuff you can do here. Zarkon did all kinds of things in his space I haven’t been able to figure out yet. Teleporting around, flying, increasing strength and speed. If the Black Lion hadn’t stepped in I’d probably have died.”  
  
The Black Lion rumbles distastefully at the mention of Zarkon. It seems displeased, and disappointed. Sad, even. But it seems happy that Shiro survived, and doesn’t regret stepping in to save him.  
  
“Sounds like there’s a lot to learn from this place, then,” Ryou says. “I’m game to figure it out if you are. I need to practice anyway.”   
  
“Great.” Shiro grins. “Want to try a spar right now?”  
  
“When you have such an obvious advantage?” Ryou says. “This is my first time here.”  
  
“C’mon, it’ll be good for you,” Shiro says. “It helps you figure out coordination here better. And anyway, _my_ first time I fought Zarkon. You’ll have it easy by comparison. I’m not out to kill you.”  
  
“As has so recently been pointed out to me,” Ryou says, “I’m not you, and neither are my bond experiences.” He grins. “But fine. You’re on. Don’t come crying to me when I figure it out faster than you.”  
  
“I won’t have to,” Shiro says, settling into a defensive stance. Ryou does the same, making his footing carefully in this world. It’s already getting easier.  
  
 _Paladins,_ the Black Lion rumbles, with nearly the same affectionate exasperation that another might say, _children._   
  
But Ryou enjoys it anyway, because it’s so clear, and because it means _him,_ too. He’s a paladin. He’s always known it, but he’s never been it, not really. Not until now.   
  
It had taken him a while, but he’d gotten there anyway. His bond might be new, but it’s _his_. He can only go up from here, and bond even more powerfully Black Lion as _Ryou._  
  
And maybe, one day, he might even fly on brilliant red and white wings.


End file.
